Monday, April 11, 2005

poetry

A Ballad Of The Trees And The Master Into the woods my Master went,Clean forspent, forspent.Into the woods my Master came,Forspent with love and shame.But the olives they were not blind to Him,The little gray leaves were kind to Him:The thorn-tree had a mind to HimWhen into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,And He was well content.Out of the woods my Master came,Content with death and shame.When Death and Shame would woo Him last,From under the trees they drew Him last:'Twas on a tree they slew Him -- lastWhen out of the woods He came.

There is some evidence that Christ was actually crucified on a twisted and gnarled olive tree -- and that he prayed under the same type of tree.

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